Harry Potter and The Never Ending Journey
by Alexander12
Summary: Set six years after the death of Lord Voldemort, Harry and Co are faced with another challenge: picking up the pieces and confronting, once and for all, the world left behind after the Second Wizarding War.
1. Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE

Harry's desk was covered in papers and posters –– some winked and screamed and waved at him, and some sat still. Many of them couldn't be seen at all, being underneath the crossed feet of its owner. Harry was twirling his wand lazily, a quill responding to gentle magic, and words formed clumsy and quickly across a piece of parchment.

A flick of the wrist, and the parchment folded itself into a paper airplane, and zipped away.

"Nobody can read that," said Jacob from beside him. Jacob had the desk next to him, and it was as clean as a polished floor.

"Yes they can," Harry said, taking down his feet and turning to his partner. Jacob was tall, and thin, with balding brown hair.

"Rupert is going to come down here and ask what that says."

"Bet you a galleon he doesn't."

"I'll take that bet."

Jacob nodded his head, and Harry turned around. Rupert, the head of the Auror part of the Magical Law Enforcement division, is walking towards him, paper airplane crumpled in his left fist. He was short and squat, with massive arms and thick black hair, down to his shoulders.

Harry grabbed a galleon from his desk, and flipped it to Jacob, who put it in his own desk amongst the others.

"You keep them?" Harry said.

"Besting the Chosen One is no small feat. I like to keep those reminders close by."

Before Harry can respond, Rupert is at his desk.

"I don't know what this says," Rupert said.

"I–"

"I also don't care. Come with me."

Rupert walked off. Harry, with a look back to Jacob, follows.

They left the Auror offices, walking into the Ministry proper. Rupert dropped the paper without looking and a house elf caught it, running fast to throw it away. Harry winced. He was glad that Hermione wasn't here to see that. She hated that the Ministry still used house elf labor without paying. Harry didn't like it much, either.

The elevator bank was full of people, but a snap of the fingers from Rupert cleared out on elevator for the two of them. Harry hated that, too, but he didn't do anything to stop it. The people who cleared out started at Harry, and he struggled apologetically as they ascended.

"Where are we going?" Harry said.

"There was an explosion in Bakewell. Three people dead. We're sending you to investigate," Rupert said.

"What about those murders in London? Jacob and I have been working on those for a while."

"That's wrapped, Potter. Muggle police got them already. We'll be retrieving their bodies by Monday."

"They were killed by Muggle police? Where were they?" Harry asked.

"Alabama," Rupert said.

Harry nodded. That made sense.

"Sad," Harry said.

"Deserved," Rupert retorted.

Harry didn't respond. Rupert had been an important part of the resistance when Voldemort was in power, and in the aftermath as they rounded the last of his followers. But he was closer to the Barty Crouch Sr school of dark wizard hunting than Harry's.

The elevator opened, and the two men stepped out. They were on one of the upper floors, a place where Harry and the Aurors rarely ventured. High level administrative people worked on this floor — decisions small and big were made on this floor. The Deputy Minister, a position newly created after the fall of Voldemort, was on this floor as well.

"What are we doing up here, Rupert?" Harry said.

"What happened in Bakewell involved some… sensitive things. We're meeting with the Deputy Minister to make sure we're all on the same page," Rupert said.

"What does that mean?"

Rupert didn't answer. They walked to the end of the hall, to the large, ornate white-wood door. Rupert tapped on it with his hand, and upon the fourth tap, Harry and Rupert were suddenly pulled into it, and dropped into two chairs, in front of a vast, oaken desk.

"That was unpleasant," Harry said, getting his breath. "Thanks for letting me know that was coming."

Rupert straightened his cloak, staring ahead. Harry followed his eyes to the man behind the desk. He had brown skin and blue eyes, with slicked back black hair and wire frame glasses. He was in Muggle dress, in a vest and tie, and a five o'clock shadow was threatening to turn into a beard. His name was Thomas Parker, and he was the Deputy Minister of Magic.

"Deputy Minister," Rupert said professionally, deepening his voice half an octave.

"Deputy Minister," Harry said, trying to mirror his superior.

"Mr. Rocksford, Mr. Potter. Thank you for coming to my office," Thomas said. He removed his glasses, and cleaned them on his shirt. He put them back on, and smiled –- much warmer, and more inviting, than Harry had expected.

"You've heard all of this already, Mr. Rocksford, you don't have to stick around for the encore," Thomas said.

"Of course, Deputy Minister," Rupert said, standing and turning and Apparting out of the room. Harry swallowed.

"Nervous, Mr. Potter?" Thomas said.

"We've never met," Harry said, in way of response.

"No, we haven't. Though, in my defense, I've only been on the job for a few months."

"I liked your predecessor. Ms. Steele was a smart woman."

"Indeed. Took your counsel quite often, too, didn't she?"

"I think it'd be more accurate to say that I took hers, Deputy Minister," Harry said.

Thomas smiled –- still warm, and inviting. Harry felt himself relaxing, for the first time.

"Ms. Steele is missed. Frankly, I wish she had stayed on. I was more comfortable working on general administration than as Deputy Minister. But, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't extremely proud to have gotten this position," Thomas said.

Harry looked at Thomas. His presentation –- Muggle clothing, and slicked back hair, and those piercing blue eyes –– they all set him on edge. He didn't look very much like a wizard, and certainly nothing like Lindsey Steele. Lindsey Steele has been tall and wide, with wild gray hair and wilder eyes. She had been the Deputy Minister for almost five and a half years, and when she had retired and moved on to teach at Hogwarts, Harry had felt real sadness to not get to work with her everyday.

But this Thomas –– he knew very little about him. He had been at the Ministry when Voldemort was in charge. That wasn't a black mark against him, as many were, but Thomas Parker had been a mid-level manager, dealing mostly with Muggles and their protection, and anybody in that division deserved scrutiny. But Kinglsey trusted him, so–

"Are you thinking me over, Mr. Potter?" Thomas said.

"Reading my mind?" Harry said.

"No. I am not gifted in those arts, I'm afraid. Just a good reader of body language, and your stare does me no favors."

"You worked in Muggle protection during Voldemort's reign––" (Harry was glad to see that Thomas did not flinch at the now-dead villains name) "–– and that is not something I take lightly."

"A fair assessment. But if Minster Shacklebot trusts me––," Thomas began.

"Then I trust you, too," Harry said, finishing the sentence. "That's what I was working out. In my head."

"I am glad to hear that," Thomas said.

Thomas waved his wand, and a folder appeared out of thin air. It landed in Harry's lap, and flipped open. On the front page is a newspaper clipping from _The Daily Prophet_. DYLAN KOSTAS DEAD IN EXPLOSION, the headline screamed. A picture of Dylan Kostas, a young man with black hair, waved merrily back up at him.

"Who is Dylan Kostas?" Harry said.

"He was one of six people killed in the explosion in Bakewell," Thomas said.

"Is he important?"

"Very. He was an informant for Magical Law Enforcement, working with several others in trying to thwart a cell of dark wizards."

Harry looked up sharply, and frowned.

"Not to be too bold, Deputy Minister, but should I really be put on this case?" Harry said.

"Because of your fame? Perhaps. It would put a certain shine on this case that it otherwise wouldn't get. But we're hoping that shine might force those who did this into a mistake, if it was indeed a murder, and not just an accident," Thomas said.

"That's a big risk. Could risk further exposure to your informants."

"I know what I am doing, Mr. Potter. That is not up for debate."

That smile was still warm. Harry began to think that this man was the most gifted liar he had ever met.

"I am telling you this because I want you to be careful, and vigilant," Thomas said. "Take a look around, and get back to us. Have you been to Bakewell?"

Harry shook his head.

"Ms. Rose has. She'll be accompanying you. She knows the area well, and you can Side-Along Apparate the first time there."

"Ms. Rose?" Harry said, confused.

"Your partner on this assignment. An Irish woman, transferring in from their Ministry, if you can call it that. Any other questions?"

Harry shook his head again. Thomas' smiled faded, and Harry realized that it had never left his face.

"Good luck, Mr. Potter. Keep this to yourself," Thomas said, and the man snapped his fingers, and Harry found himself outside of the large, ornate door at the end of the hallway.

"Blimey," Harry said, blinking furiously, as though he had stepped into the sun, before heading down to the elevator bank

It took only a moment for the elevator to arrive, and those odd, messy doors opened with a crinkle. Harry stepped inside, yawning, and almost ran into Hermione, who was on her way out.

"Harry!" she said, stopping just short of him.

"Hermione!" Harry said in return, though he wasn't sure why.

The elevator closed behind her, and descended.

"What are you doing up on this floor?" she said.

"Work from the Deputy Minister," he said. He told her all about it.

"The Deputy Minister probably wanted you to keep that to yourself."

"He did."

He smirked, and she rolled her eyes. She walked over to a nearby door, a mottled green thing, and tapped it with her wand. It turned into a giant mouth, and she rolled her eyes again, and withdrew a small ring from her pocket. She placed it on the tongue, and the mouth giggled, and slurped it up.

"What was that?" he said once she had returned to his side.

"A de-magicked ring, taken from a Muggle jewelry shop. Moartinson wanted it brought up here personally," she said.

He looked at her, somewhat stunned that she would think he was asking about the ring, and not the giant mouth that ate it like it was chicken broth.

"Oh," she said, slightly pink, "Moartinson's out of the office, so I left it at his Deputy's instead. Alan Brothers. Thinks he's George Weasley. As if I don't get enough of that at home…"

Harry smiled. The elevator returned, and they got on together. A few people were on it this time. They looked at Harry, and then Hermione, and then away –– he had been working here six years, and Harry and Hermione still got looks from some of their colleagues.

"You want to come over for dinner tonight?" she asked casually, knowing the others were listening.

"Yeah. Ginny's gone with the team till Tuesday. I've been eating out for the last few days," he said.

"Ron's been working on a recipe. A goulash, I think."

"Maybe I'll pass."

"I'm not eating it alone. Come over at four? I just got a new report from Bushwick about the house elf changes in America and I'd like your input," she said.

Harry had a flash -– a small one, of those SPEW badges and the badly knitted clothes. He thought of Dobby and Kreacher, the latter who still worked at Hogwarts. Once upon a time, those badges were an annoyance, and Hermione's obsessions cringe-worthy; but now?

"I'd love to, Hermione," Harry said, and she smiled, and got off the elevator, leaving him alone with a black haired witch and a rosy red wizard, who exchanged glances he could feel, and he smiled at that, too.


	2. Chapter Two

CHAPTER TWO

Harry arrived at four, on the dot, and Ron opened the door when he knocked. They embraced, squeezing tight, and arms around shoulders, walked into the living room. Hermione was not there.

"Where's Hermione?" Harry said.

"Still at work, I suppose. Been working a lot of late nights," Ron said.

Ron waved his wand and two beers zoomed in from the kitchen. He flicked his wand again, and the caps spun away with a _whip!_

"You are so lazy," Harry said with a smile.

"The mother of invention is the guy who doesn't want to get off his couch," Ron said with a shrug.

"Is that how it goes?"

"That's how it goes, Harry."

They clinked glasses and plopped onto the couches together. Ron took a drink, and then yawned, and rubbed his eyes.

"How's work?" Harry said.

"Fine," Ron said, a little quickly. Harry gave him a look.

"Okay, fine. Not so fine," Ron again said quickly. Harry was undeterred. He had known Ronald Weasley long enough to know when he was being evasive.

"You gonna tell me or are you gonna make me guess?' Harry said.

"I don't want to talk about it."

Ron got up quickly, beer in hand, and walked over to the door. He leaned against the frame, back to Harry. Harry frowned. This was much more dramatic than he expected. Things must be going really bad.

"You can talk to me if you want," Harry said.

Ron turned around, and stared at Harry, but before anything could change, they heard the front door creak open.

"I'm home! Is Harry here already?" Hermione called out.

"Yeah," Harry and Ron called out at the same time.

Hermione walked into the living room, carrying a shoulder bag. She kissed Ron and hugged Harry, and with a wave of her wand a beer zoomed in, sans cap, and into her hand. She dropped her bag on the floor with a dull _thud_.

"You too, eh?" Ron said.

"I got corned by the Deputy Minister. Wants me to move off the house elf issue, work on some goblin paperwork. I know why wants me to do it, the bloody bastard," Hermione said, taking a long swig. Ron and Harry exchanged glances.

"Why?" Ron said. Harry knew why –– she made the ministry look bad for pushing back on them not paying house elves.

"Because they still aren't paying all of their house elves, and they're tired of looking bad," Hermione said.

They sat down on the couch together, but only for a moment -– Hermione immediately sprang up.

"Oh, Harry, those papers!" she said. She ran over to her bag.

After they went over the papers (Harry suggested that the changes in America could use a little more muscle, and suggested sending in an Auror or two, something Hermione had already though of and was pink that Harry agreed with), they had dinner. The promised goulash had been given up on and thrown in the trash, and their (paid) house elf Mork had whipped up steak and mashed potatoes.

"Thank you, Mork," Hermione said. The young house elf bowed low, and backed off, smiling, before Apparting away.

"Where is he living now?" Harry asked.

"He bought a small apartment in the city, amongst other freed house elves. It took some convincing, but we got him to move out," Hermione said.

"She got him to move out. I was fine with Mork here," Ron said.

"Mork needed his independence. And some capital, too. He won't work for us forever, Ron. What if he finds a better paying job, or retires? He needs something to retire on."

Ron looked at her, incredulous.

"A better paying job? Retirement?"

Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but a look from Harry closed her mouth. No use arguing with Ron, Harry knew. He'd either come around on his own or he wouldn't. Ron looked to him for support, and Harry felt a little old anger, but it died quickly.

"Anyway," Harry said quickly.

"You heard from Ginny?" Ron said, as eager as Harry to move the conversation along?

Before Harry could answer, an owl swooped in –– it dropped a letter on Ron's lap and nipped his ear.

"Ouch, you little shit," Ron said. He waved his wand again and owl treats flew across the room. He caught one, and fed the owl. The owl was snowy, with piercing eyes. The owl looked like Hedwig.

"Whose owl is that?" Harry said, tightness in his throat.

"George's," Ron said.

"I thought he had a big brown thing," Harry said.

"That's his home owl now. This girl is named Winifred."

"Fred," Harry said, and the owl hooted. Ron smiled sadly, and Hermione squeezed his hand.

"Yeah," Ron said. "Fred."

Ron read the letter and sighed. He stood.

"George needs me to come to the office. I'll be back soon. You stick around, Harry?" Ron said.

"I gotta get going. I'm heading out tomorrow to look at an explosion in Bakewell," Harry said.

"Oh, damn. Sorry we didn't get to talk about it. Tell me about it when you get back?"

"Definitely."

Ron kissed Hermione, hugged Harry, and turned on the spot –– with that, there was a crack, and he disappeared. Harry and Hermione sat back down.

"You met your partner yet?" Hermione said.

"No. Don't even know her first name," Harry said.

"Bethany. I asked around."

"I'd ask if that was because you knew I was layabout –"

"But we already know the answer to that," she said with a smile.

They sat in silence for a moment. Fred had flown off with Ron's departure, and the two were left alone. Harry felt old in the silences –– more and more so, lately, it seemed to him. He hadn't been apart from Ginny this long since his last year at Hogwarts, and their home was too empty for him.

He almost said this to Hermione –– expressed this growing discomfort. But she looked at him, and they locked eyes, and he didn't want to tell her anymore. She looked more tired than he did, worn down by the constant arguing and negotiating of her job. She would be out of there eventually, in a bigger office with a bigger mandate, but that wasn't now. He didn't want to lay that on her right now. His problems seemed small by comparison.

"What is it, Harry?" she said.

"Nothing," he said, and stood.

"Leaving so soon?"

"I think I'm just gonna turn in. Thanks for dinner, Hermione. Tell Mork I said it was wonderful."

"He'll be happy to hear that. You'll probably find your house made and a meal cooked when you come home from work tomorrow," she said.

"I'll leave him a few galleons," he said. "And an order not to do again."

"See you at work tomorrow," she said, hugging him.

"See you tomorrow."

And he too turned on the spot, and soon he felt as if he was being squeezed into a tube of toothpaste –– and then he was on his doorstep, back home.

Their home was in London; a modern, richly historical place that both he and Ginny fell in love with immediately. He still had his parents house, but had not repaired it. It remained a shrine, broken and busted, with new messages of gratitude and love graffitied on every day. He couldn't have lived there anyway. Too many memories –– not of his own, of course, but of his mother and father.

Harry opened his front door, and went inside.

He rose slowly the next morning, avoiding the cold part of the bed. He dashed off a letter to Ginny, sending it by their house owl, Peach, who grumbled sleepily before taking the letter in his beak and flying away.

He ate breakfast quickly, wolfing down toast and bacon, before retiring to his practice room. A few times a week he and Ginny would work on spell work; mostly defensive spells, but some charms and offensive magic as well.

Harry kept an enchanted mannequin for practice purposes, and when he entered the room, it jumped to attention.

"Rapid fire," Harry said. The mannequin raised its awkward arm, a piece of wood taped to the end of it.

"Expell–" a nasally voice said, but Harry thought _Protego!_ and a shield rippled in front of him.

"Stu–"

 _Protego!_

"Sectum Sem–"

 _Protego!_

"Stup–"

 _Everte Statum!_

This spell hit the mannequin full force and it stumbled.

"Depulso!" Harry roared, and the mannequin slammed against the wall.

"Defodio!" Harry yelled, and gouges tore from the mannequin.

"Deprimo!" Harry screamed, one last spell, and the mannequin was driven into the ground with great force.

"Episkey," Harry said, and the mannequin was put back together.

He grabbed a towel from the rack on his way out, and mopped his brow, slipping his wand into his pocket. He stepped into the hallway, and shivered in the cold–– shivered in the cold?

Harry turned, and looked down the hallway. A woman, with blonde hair and brown eyes, stared at him. He felt a cold pit in his stomach, and he remembered –– that long hallway, racing down it, to the door of the Department of Mysteries. He thought of

"Sirius!" Harry screamed, but he had fallen behind the veil. Lupin held onto him tightly.

"He's gone," Lupin said, and Harry could feel hot tears on his

Harry pulled his wand. The woman did the same.


	3. Chapter Three

CHAPTER THREE

"Who are you?" Harry said.

"Bethany Rose," she said.

"What are you doing in my house?"

"You were not at work yet."

"It's not time for work yet."

"I like to get an early start," she said.

"Are you in charge?" he said.

"No."

"Then get out of my house, and knock on the front door. Don't ever break into my house again."

Bethany Rose stared at him, then walked out the front door, and knocked. He let her in.

"Pretty bold way of introducing yourself," Harry said, pouring them some tea.

"I assumed you would be at the Ministry. When you weren't, I came here instead. You are known for arriving early," Bethany said.

"Early is thirty minutes. Not three hours. Sugar?"

"Please."

He put a teaspoon of sugar in her tea, and handed it to her. They both sipped tea in silence for a moment.

"Your door was had strong enchantments on it," she said.

"And you broke them anyway," he said.

"It took a bit of doing."

"I'm still at a bit of a loss as to why you did it in the first place."

She took a sip of tea, and didn't respond. He was going to have to keep an eye on her. He looked at her face; pale, made paler by those blue eyes and blonde hair. She was very pretty, almost inhumanely so. He thought she might be half-Veela; but he had been around Veela, and none of them made him anxious. Not in that way, anyway.

"I could hear you practicing spell work," she said.

"Is that why you drew your wand?" he said.

"I thought you might've mistaken me for a burglar."

"Or an attacker."

"You think yourself important enough to attack?"

Harry looked at her. It wasn't about importance, but–

"You do know who I am, right?" he said, and immediately regretted it.

"Of course, Mr. Potter," she said, "but I think that you do, too."

"That was arrogant of me."

"It was, but it was honest. I can work with honest."

Harry finished his tea, and stood. He went into the bedroom without another word, and dressed. When he came back out, she was finishing up another cup of tea. Not afraid to make herself at home, Harry thought, a little perturbed.

"Shall we?" he said, holding out a hand. She put her cup down, and when their hands touched, he Apparated them out of his home.

They landed in the Auror department, right next to desk. Papers fluttered as they landed. Jacob, already there and scratching out paper work, looked up at them.

"This my replacement?" Jacob said.

"Just for now. I'll pick you up from the kennel when we're finished. Bethany Rose," Harry said. Bethany and Jacob shook hands.

"Jacob Walsh," Jacob said.

"Charmed," Bethany said.

"Glad to hear it. Send this to Wilson for me?"

Jacob folded up the parchment and handed it to Harry. He stood, and put on his coat.

"Assignment?" Harry said.

"They need help on this goblin thing. Ms. Granger requested me. You have something to do with this?" Jacob said.

"It was Hermione's idea, but I recommended you. Thought you'd be perfect for it."

"I appreciate that. Travel pay and I get to see the States. See you in a week, Harry."

Jacob turned on the spot, and Apparated away. Harry waved his wand and the parchment folded itself into a paper airplane and zoomed off.

"Where is this Wilson?" Bethany said.

"He's in the Pest Advisory Bureau. He and Jacob are working on some sort of project together. He doesn't really talk about it," Harry said.

"And he trusts you to send his mail?"

"Why wouldn't he?"

Bethany looked at him, frowning. Harry shrugged.

"Come on," he said. "Let's report to Rupert then head to Bakewell."

The report to Rupert was short and uneventful, and he sent them on their way with no further instructions. Harry took Bethany's hand, and they Apparated out of Rupert's office to Bakewell.

Bakewell was a very small town. Less than 4,000 people, according to Rupert.

"Bakewell of all places," Harry said.

"Indeed," Bethany said.

They were just on the outskirts. Harry pulled his coat tighter around him.

"Cold," he said.

"I spent many a night huddled our heater," she said.

"You're from here?"

"Born and raised. My parents still live here, though they're on the other side of town."

"What do they think about the explosion?"

"Not much. They're muggles. They don't really keep up with the magical world, unless it directly involves me."

He never would've pegged her for a Muggle born. She had that crispness of the upper class, or perhaps the arrogance of; breaking into someone's house made that kind of specific impression.

They walked on, deeper into Bakewell. The explosion had taken place near a row of houses nor far from where they landed, and Harry could tell immediately that magic had been dispensed on this street. The house was repaired, but shoddily; pieces were put back in the wrong places, and it looked to be held together by tape and glue.

"A Concealment Charm, I think," Bethany said. None of the Muggles walking the street paid any attention to the obviously wrong house.

"It's powerful magic, whatever it is. A little too powerful to be this near Muggles," Harry replied.

"I agree. They'll send someone to do a proper repair, but for now, they wanted to make sure the Muggles thought nothing was out of the ordinary."

"A house blew up next to them. It'd take more than a Concealment Charm."

"Most of them were at a festival in the town square. Very few direct witnesses. We had people on the scene in less than five minutes."

They walked up the stoop, and Bethany tapped on the door. It swung open, and a blast of stale air hit Harry full in the face. He held his breath for a moment, and then followed Bethany inside.

"How does a British witch end up working for the Irish ministry?" he said.

"I'm not British. I was born in Ireland. My parents moved us to Bakewell when I was two," she said.

"Sounds more British than Irish."

Bethany turned to him. She looked amused. Harry felt heat rise up his cheeks.

"Never met many Irish people, have you, Mr. Potter?"

Before he could respond, she walked away from him. He swallowed, and walked after her.

The interior of the house mirrored the slapdash nature of its outside. The hallways were different sizes, and the stars uneven, and the living room looked like a horror funhouse. Near the back of the living room, next to the door that led to the backyard, was a blood stain. It was surrounded by a white magical line, which sent up the name "BORIS KESSEL" when he looked at it. Bethany kneeled down next to it, touched it with her wand.

"Sanguinis Delere," she said, and some of the blood siphoned off the floor and hung in the air. She held out her hand, and a tube tumbled out of her pocket and into her fingers. She directed the blood into the tube, and put it away.

"Never heard of that spell," he said.

"It's mostly a house cleaning spell. But I found it was useful for other things."

"Wandless magic, too. Making that tube come to you. Not many people can do that."

"Not many Europeans or Americans can do it. Plenty of African witches and wizards can. They don't use wands," she said.

"Is that where you learned it?" he said.

"My first partner at the Irish ministry was a Nigerian man named Paul Okafor. He taught me some stuff. I'm not an expert, and don't claim to be."

She stood, and walked outside.

The backyard had been damaged by the explosion, too; that much he had read in the file –– but he couldn't quite put his finger on what was wrong with it. Then it hit him; he couldn't look at the very center of the yard.

"Is this another Concealment Charm?" Harry said.

"Makes it hard to look at, right?" Bethany said.

"How is this one so much more powerful than the one on the house? We see right through that one."

"The one on the house was cast to keep out Muggles. This one was cast to keep out magical folk. I'm actually pretty impressed you could tell something was wrong. Takes a strong wizard to see that kind of magic."

She tapped her wand on it, and it lifted, and Harry immediately understood why this one was cast. The center of the yard was obliterated, torn asunder and massacred. He could see multiple blood stains, all surrounded by the same magical markings as inside. Each one was a different person: MARION PARKER, THOMAS BOWERS, PETER PETERSON, ALAN MASON. But the one directly in the center interested him most; that bloodstain was of DYLAN KOSTAS.

"Right in the middle of it," Harry said.

"Yeah," Bethany said. She looked at Harry, and suddenly something occurred to him.

"Why did they send you on this mission?" he said.

"Because my family is from here," she said.

He looked at her. Her face was implacable. He wasn't that stupid.

"The Irish ministry volunteered me to help."

He stared at her.

"Is this how you want to run this partnership? By lying to me?"

"You're hiding something from me, too, Mr. Potter."

"Call me Harry. Let's start there," he said.

"Call me Bethany," she said.

"Good start. Why are you on this mission?"

She looked at him. She wanted to tell him something, but was afraid to let it slip out. Pushing her too hard might make her clam up, and he didn't want that either. But how to get her to open up to him?

"Oh," Harry said. If he didn't believe it was because she had family in the area (and he didn't), the only other distinctive thing about her was–

"Kostas was working with the Irish ministry, and the British ministry doesn't know, do they? They just think you're a volunteer. On loan," he said.

"They think I'm a permanent transfer," Bethany said.

"Whatever."

"My family being here does matter. Kostas was an informant for your side, but he was working a bigger game for us. You wanted the cell, we wanted the head. That sort of thing," she said.

"Why not just tell us?"

"Not everybody likes the center of the wizarding world to be located in London, Mr. Potter. Harry."

They started at one another. Did he believe her? He had never been much good at mind reading, or protecting his mind from reading. But he was pretty sure she was telling the truth, or at least the truth her supervisors had given her.

"I read in the file that explosion was accidental. Discharge from an improperly cast spell," he said.

"Six people died. Five immediately. One managed to stumble back inside. Pretty powerfully cast improper spell," she said.

"Did he have any enemies? Besides the people he was informing on?"

"We don't know. Kostas wasn't very interested in talking about his personal life. He was dating a man named Pierce, but he's a Muggle. Couldn't cast a spell like this if he tried. Besides, watch–"

She waved her wand, and a green wisp formed at the center of the explosion, floating over the blood stain of Dylan Kostas.

"The magic came from here. Only person who could've cast it was outside. It was one of the six who died, and I'd put my money on Kostas, just considering the location and the fact that he was obliterated."

"Obliterated?" Harry said.

"The report didn't mention?" Bethany said.

Harry shook his head no. He'd have to tell Rupert about that.

"They found a finger, three toes, and an ear, and a bucket of blood on the ground. Nothing else."

A finger –– that's all they found. Pettigrew. he thought. That's all they found of Pettigrew. The cabin, and Ron's broken leg. A massive werewolf, coming alive under the light of the moon. Severus Snape, screaming at them as a thin, sad man because this great, gnashing beast. A finger –– that's they found

"Harry?" Bethany said.

He was back on his feet.

"Sorry," Harry said. "Got everything you need?"

She didn't respond. Bethany stared at him for a moment longer and then, without another word, left him in the backyard. He was thankful for the alone time. He hadn't thought about Peter Pettigrew in a long time

The man became a rat and slipped from his clothes and scurried away. Harry dove after him but he was

BANG!

Harry ran without thinking, towards the sound of the noise, back towards the house. He could hear Bethany yelling –– yelling not screaming, firing curses and jinxes and counter spells –– and when he enter through the back door he felt the heat of a spell singe the air in front of his face.

A big body, much bigger than him, slammed full force into his chest, and Harry went backwards, out the door he had just come in. He hit the grass hard, the softness not damping the blow of the full body weight of the large man on him, and his breath left him. But when the man broke free and tried to run, Harry grabbed his ankle and held on.

He was drug for a few seconds, like a young boy holding onto his father's leg. But the other foot caught on the dirt and fell. By then Bethany had come out of the house and she fired a spell at the escaping man. But the man reflected it and it hit her square in the chest, and she folded over like a board game and the man ran.

Harry had his wind, and he followed.

"Stupefy!" Harry shouted, and red light erupted from his wand. The man parried back at him, and Harry barely avoided it. The man stopped running, suddenly turning on a dime.

"Avada Kedavra!" the man shouted, and Harry was too close to dive out of the way.

The spell hit him dead in the chest, and this time it was his turn to crumple into a heap. The hottest heat spread over him, and the meanest cold began in his finger tips and toes. He tried to breathe but found little air. He tried to breathe again but found little air ––

But there was air, shallow and thin as it was. He kept breathing, this tight breathes, until finally sleep overtook him –– beating out the endless void of death, at least one more time.


	4. Chapter Four

CHAPTER FOUR

There was a gentle weight on his chest, and then it lifted. Intense pressure, and then that was lifted too - it returned and then lifted, and returned and lifted, like the rhythm of a drum. One-two-three-four (the gentle weight on his chest this time) one-two-three-four (gentle weight) one-two-three-four

And his eyes opened and opened and stretched, and from his lungs came stale air, and he screamed - but it was such a feeble yell that it came out like a gasp. His vision swam into focus; Bethany Rose was kneeling over him, her face contorted, her perfect blonde hair in strands around her now-bloodless face.

"Harry!" she yelled, as if from far away, as if from underwater.

"Harry!" she yelled again, and she was closer this time.

"Harry!" she yelled, and this time it was as if she was right over top of him, and this jolted him, and he sat up quickly, almost smashing into her forehead.

"God," Harry panted, looking for a swear that would approximate this seeming unreality.

"Are you okay?" Bethany said, half-yelling now, fear apparent in her voice.

Harry looked at her, wanted to reassure her, but he wasn't sure what he felt. This was not his first experience with the Killing Curse, nor his second, but this was the first time he been hit by someone other than Voldemort. He looked around, saw his hands laying limply on the ground, and wiggled his fingers. He wiggled his toes, and his feet.

Harry burst out laughing.

"I'm okay," he said, incredulous. Bethany let out a long breath. He tried to get up, but his legs were weak.

"Stay down, it's okay," Bethany said. But Harry persisted, and she helped, and soon he was on unsteady feet. He felt bile rise in his throat, and his vision go a little dark.

"I'm not doing so well," he said, and then his legs gave out, and he went down to his knees, and upon his kneecaps hitting the cold ground, his vision went dark.

He woke again in a hospital bed, glasses off, sky dark. He looked upon the shadowing hospital room with some confusion. He could see figures in the room with him; three of them, by his estimation. One was close by, their head almost on the bed, and the other two were leaning on each other against the wall.

"Hello," he said stupidly, looking at the figure closest by. They woke up at once.

"Harry, oh god," she said, and he instantly knew it was Ginny.

"Can I have my glasses?" he said, again stupidly. He felt them being pressed gently on his face.

He blinked, and blinked some more - things came into focus. Near his bed was his girlfriend, Ginny. Ron and Hermione had been on the wall, but had moved next to Ginny. They were packed in so tight, they looked almost like sardines. He smiled.

"Hey guys," he said. Ginny and Hermione were on the verge of tears. Ron had a curious case of the sniffles. Ginny leaned forward and kissed him, hard, and Hermione and Ron leaned over for long hugs.

"Another Killing Curse, mate? Starting to repeat yourself," Ron said, voice hoarse.

"I'm a fan of the classics," Harry said with a smirk. He shifted in his bed, and he felt a burn in his chest, and he let out a groan.

"Are you okay?" Hermione and Ginny said together.

"I'm fine. Just sore," Harry said.

"Can you tell us what happened?" Hermione said.

Harry did. He tried to minimize the attack, and didn't really bring up how it felt to get hit by the Killing Curse again; the looks on their faces as he told them about how it hit him square in the chest made him want to keep that to himself. But he told them everything else, even about the case, which he was sure the Deputy Minister would not have liked. But here he was again - not the Boy Who Lived, but the Man Who Survived. Add that title to the list, he thought, very wearily.

"I'm not really sure how I survived it," Harry said.

"The Killing Curse requires intent and power. Your attacker must not have had it in him," Hermione said.

"I've got it in me," Ginny said quietly. Harry smiled, and squeezed her hand.

"Don't go murdering people on my account, G. Azkaban isn't a great place to visit," Harry said.

"The dementors are gone. It's not so bad now," Hermione said.

"Don't encourage her," Ron said.

Harry smiled again. He suddenly felt very old. This was all too much. It crossed his mind that he had never been in a hospital bed that wasn't at Hogwarts.

"St. Mungos, right?" Harry said.

"Nah, mate, they took you to a Muggle hospital," Ron said sarcastically.

"Be nice," Hermione said.

"If he was nice, I'd think somebody had possessed him," Harry said.

"It's happened in this family before," Ginny said.

Yes, Harry thought, it had. A lot had happened in this family. A lot had happened to him, specifically. This was another thing to add to the list. Too much stuff, too many things. Harry felt his breath catch in his chest, right where the jet of green light had gone into and through him. He felt lightheaded. Was he having a panic attack?

But nobody seemed to notice anything different. They were all still smiling at him, though Harry thought Hermione might-

"Are you okay, Harry?" Hermione said.

"Yeah," Harry lied. "Just tired."

They left him alone after that, though none of them left. Hermione and Ron settled against the wall, and Ginny laid her head back on his bed. They were asleep before he was, though he did his best to fake it and keep his eyes closed. He didn't want to sleep with this fear in his heart. He was afraid if he went to sleep now that when he woke up it'd be engraved - that it would never go away ever again.

But sleep he did, eventually.

When he woke the next morning, Ron and Hermione were gone. Ginny was talking to the Healer, but when they saw he had opened his eyes, they both came over to his bed.

"Good morning, Mr. Potter," said the healer, whose name tag read Anna. She was a tall, black witch, with thick hair tied into a ponytail.

"Good morning," he said.

"Sleep well?"

"Yes," he lied.

"Glad to hear it. You've been through quite the experience. Let's run a few tests, see what comes up. You okay with that?" she said. Harry nodded

Anna took out her wand, and muttered a few words Harry couldn't hear. She placed the tip of the wand on his right arm. It pulsed cold and hot, but not unpleasantly, and after a minute or two, she took the wand off his arm. She waved the stick in the area, and green smoke and yellow smoke poured out. She smiled at the results.

"You're in pretty good shape, all things considered. No lasting damage," Anna said.

"Will I have another scar?" Harry said.

"I doubt it. Your original scar was a, well, unique case."

Anna stowed her wand in her pocket.

"I would suggest that you stay until tomorrow morning. We'll be bringing you a variety of potions to make sure that your energy is back to where it needs to be."

"What's two days in the hospital, right?" he said with a smile. Anna frowned.

"A day?" she said.

"Yeah. If I get out tomorrow morning, that would make two days, right?"

Anna and Ginny exchanged looks. Anna looked back at Harry.

"What is it?" he said.

"Harry, honey," Ginny said, laying a hand on his arm.

"How long have I been here?" he said, almost demanding.

"Tomorrow will be two weeks, Mr. Potter," Anna said. Harry felt a cold spread in his chest.

"Two weeks?" he said.

"You were unconscious for most of it. It's been a little more touch and go than I'd like to admit," Anna said.

How close to death had he been? He assumed that Bethany waking him up meant that he was relatively okay; who gets to their feet after a gunshot and then passes out for two weeks? Two weeks. He couldn't let that number go. Two weeks is a very long time, he thought stupidly. Maybe that was why he was thinking so stupidly. Saying things so stupidly. He had been in a coma for two - fucking - weeks!

Harry tried to get out of bed, suddenly, but his legs were feeble and the furthest he got was them swinging over the bed.

"Harry, no," Ginny said.

"Two weeks?" Harry said, looking up at her.

"Yeah," she said, her voice breaking.

"I'd like to recommend a counselor, if that's alright," Anna said.

"Yes," Ginny said.

"I'm fine," Harry said.

Anna and Ginny looked at him.

"I'd like to check out, too. Is there a way I can do that potion regimen from home?"

"Yes," Anna said, "though we don't really recommend it-"

"We'll muddle through. Ginny, will you help me get dressed?"

"I think you should stay in the hospital for another day. Please," she said.

"No," Harry said with false brightness, "I'll be just fine."

He stood, very weak, but he held himself aloft.

"Not to kick you out, doctor, but I need to change into my clothes," Harry said.

"Of course. If you change your mind, please let me know," Anna said, and left.

When the door had closed behind her, Harry felt something break inside him. He looked at Ginny, but couldn't look her in the eye. She came over, and wrapped her arms around him. He felt hot tears spring to his eyes.

He felt so lost. He had once willingly walked to his death, a boy who became a man who chose his fate, and he had been fine with that. To die in the service of his friends and family was an honor - a joy, even, despite the fear that had filled his veins as he walked through the Forbidden Forest.

But this was different. This was unexpected, and pointless, and cruel. He was just doing his job - just trying to - but it was both more and less than that. It wasn't just this time. It was every other time. It was when he was a baby, or when Aragog had cornered them, or when Quirrel had reached for him. It was the dragons in the Triwizard tournament, and the hedges that grew over Viktor Krum, and Cedric's body, cold in his hands, shirt bunched up over his hands as he wept into his still chest.

Too much had happened. Too much inside him, fighting to get out. He had to let this out, but if he let it out, if he let it out, it would stay out. He couldn't do this.

Swallow it down, wrap it in chains, drop it into the depths of your soul. Harry did this, and with a deep breath, he looked up at Ginny.

"You okay?" he said, that false note back in his voice. She looked at him, sadder than she had ever been.

"Yeah," she said, but she wasn't, and he wasn't, but before he could let those thoughts become words, he turned them both, and they Apparated away.


	5. Chapter Five

CHAPTER FIVE

She leaned on the doorframe, staring into the room in front of her. Five men were playing poker; smoke from cigars wafted to the ceilings, and each man had a beer bottle next to their cards.

"Check," said the oldest one, a man with gray hair and patchy beard.

The rest knocked on the table, and the river was dealt. Three cards, flipped over: three hearts, one the queen, one the king, one the jack. A low whistle went up from around the table.

"Nice deal, Brett," said the youngest one, a man with thick black hair and a clean face and brown eyes.

"50," said Brett, the old man, tossing his money into the center. The rest of the men followed, though none said a word.

"Pot's right," said Brett, and deal the next card. 10 of Hearts. Another low whistle.

"Gonna see a fucking flush on the table," said the young man.

"Gonna win with a 2-high royal flush," said another, a black man in horn-rimmed glasses.

"A win's a win," said another. This was the man that Bethany stared at the hardest, because though he had changed his appearance (either by transfiguration or poly juice potion), he was the man who had nearly killed Harry Potter.

She had tracked him these last two weeks, all the way across Bakewell and into London proper, before he had hopped a plane and ended up in America. She had no fondness for the States, having had a bad experience with their government (especially their Law Enforcement division, a group of people with little skill and less restraint), and had no desire to spend a single second in longer in New York than she had to.

"100," said the would-be killer, and the rest of the table followed suit. A large pot, to be sure.

"Last card," Brett said, and the card was dealt. Ace of Hearts.

"What I say!" said the young man.

"We all heard you," said the black man.

"Any last bets?" Brett said.

"I'll go 200," said the coward. The rest of the table went with him.

"Biggest pot of the night, fellas," Brett said. "Flip 'em."

Bethany watched as the men flipped their cards. The attacker flipped his last, waiting until he saw everyone's cards, and then, beneath the table, used his wand to change his 4 of spades to the Ace of Spades. It was a pretty brazen switch, but considering that he had almost certainly rigged the cards, he didn't seem too concerned about being caught.

The table groaned.

"Sorry about that boys," the coward said, sweeping up his winnings, and putting them into a bag.

"You leaving, Conn?" Brett said.

"Yeah. Sorry, fellas. I got an early start tomorrow," Conn said.

The table muttered a few curses, but they went back to playing. Conn went past Bethany without a single glance; not unusual, as she was safely tucked beneath an invisibility cloak. She followed him out of this dingy little poker den, into the streets of New York. They were somewhere near LaGuardia; according to her tracking notes, he had been hitting gambling joints near airports since he arrived. He'd been smart about using a different name each time, a different appearance each time, but this time he had gone with the same name, and the same face. She was pretty sure it was because it was because this place needed a reference to get into - he was just arrogant enough to make that sort of mistake, by her estimation.

It was after a hard rain, with a little drizzle still in the air. Conn, in this iteration, had long brown hair, balding at the temples, and falling to his shoulders. Dark green eyes, with bright white teeth. Like an aging rock star, who spent time at the gym and the dentist and the tanning bed, and nowhere else. He walked with a slight limp; she hoped it was from where Harry had held onto his leg and he had fallen. It was the least of what he deserved.

Bethany had visited Harry for the first few days of his stay at St. Mungo's, but Rupert had called her back in. Harry Potter was a very good Auror, but he was also the Chosen One, and the Boy Who Lived, and attacks on him had to be dealt with swiftly and correctly, lest anyone start to believe anything was brewing. She remembered the panic of the Second Wizarding War, and how helpless she felt; she was only 30, having been about Harry's age when it was ended six years ago, but she remembered when Harry first came to Hogwarts. She had been a seventh year in his first, and too absorbed in books and study to get to know him, but she had followed his adventures. Who hadn't?

Conn stopped in front of a manhole cover, and bent down. He whispered something, and a hand reached out. He handed the bag to the hand, and the hand then handed back what looked like half of it in cash. Conn stuffed the bills in his pocket and walked on, and around the corner.

Bethany knelt down, still under the invisibility cloak. She thought for a second; she hadn't actually heard what she said.

"Hey," she said, and felt foolish. She tapped the thing with her wand, but nothing happened.

"Alohomora," she wished. But, again, nothing happened.

But then manhole cover and a face, a little elfish face, poked out.

"Who is there?" said the elf

Bethany pointed her wand under the cloak, and thought _Petrificus Totalus_ , and the elf froze in place. Bethany pulled the elf from the manhole, and slipped inside, carrying the creature underneath her arm, and further still underneath the cloak.

This was the elf's home. It was larger than needed for an elf; about the size of a large human living room with high ceilings. It had oak hardwood floors and big comfortable yellows chairs, with a merry fireplace crackling in the background. A small kitchen was off to the side, and a small bathroom was sectioned off by a series of hastily built walls.

She placed the elf down on a seat, and its angry eyes bored holes into her as she searched. She went through drawers and other things, not really sure what she was looking for, but she found it anyway –– in the second drawer of the dresser by the bed, she found a false bottom. A single knock with her fist broke it free, and underneath was a list of names, with money written next to it. She saw the name Conn Stapleton, but ––

"Excuse me," Bethany said to the elf, waving her wand and freeing him. "I need your assistance."

The elf tried to use magic but she froze him in place again.

"You are not fast enough, elf," she said. "If you do that again, I will simply run through your list of names, and ruin your reputation. Find one man, save the rest. Understand?"

The elf slowly nodded. She freed him, and he stretched, and rubbed his neck.

"What do you want, British," it said.

"The man who just gave you a bag of money. What's his name?" Bethany said.

"He goes by Conn, though his real name is Marcus."

"How do you know his real name?"

"I do not lend anyone money who I don't know everything about."

"Why did you loan him money?" she said.

"Because he wanted to make some extra scratch and you need a bankroll to get into some of those places," the elf said.

"He paid up now?"

"Indeed."

"Then he's not much use to you now. Do you know where he's heading?"

The elf smiled. It was a warm smile, and Bethany felt like she might've misjudged him.

"He's going to the Baggage Car, a place where wizards gamble. The bills I gave him will get him in the door. He'll be there all night," the elf said.

"What's the catch?" Bethany said.

"The catch, British, is that the owner of the Baggage Car owes me money. Do a little damage to his establishment, and I'll deliver you your man. You'll need me to get in anyway."

"Why's that?"

"Because you look like a cop, and smell like a cop, and talk like a cop. You'll never make it past the front door," the creature said harshly.

"Okay," Bethany said. "You have a deal."

There it was again, that same warm smile. She followed the creature out of the manhole cover, and he walked ahead of her. The streets were empty, and it was still drizzling, and it was still cold.

"Stay under the cloak until I say, British," the elf said.

The Baggage Car was located in a busted old bus in a busted old lot. The elf walked up to the front door, and knocked. The door opened, and a human face poked out.

"What do you want, Korlack?" said the man.

"To gamble," Korlack said.

"Mr. Pearson said you're an undesirable."

"Tell Mr. Pearson I'm not here to collect. Just to shake some big trees."

The man closed the door for a moment. Behind Korlack's back, he waved his finger at Bethany.

"When he lets us in, move fast, British," Korlack said quietly. "His sensors will read two people coming in, but if we're fast, they won't catch the discrepancy fast enough."

Bethany didn't respond. The door opened again.

"Mr. Pearson said no," the man said, and Bethany cursed him from beneath her clock. He hit the back wall, stunned.

"That's one way to go about it," Korlack said, and Bethany pushed inside. Korlack did not follow behind her.

Men and women with wands came into the front hallway, which was narrow and sticky. It had a low ceiling, with old fashioned ceiling tiles. The first man around the corner fired a jinx that ricocheted around the room before striking one of his compatriots. Bethany hit them with Lumine Fluctus, and a bright wave of light poured from her wand and overtook them.

They rubbed their eyes as she pushed past them. The Baggage Car was in chaos, with many of the gambling tables overturned. A large man in an expensive suit she believed to be Mr. Pearson was patrolling with an absurdly small wand. One witch tried to scoop up chips, and he hit her with the Killing Curse as casual as mowing the lawn. The witch fell, soft as grass, before splitting her cooling head on a chair.

Bethany looked around frantically, but she couldn't see Conn. Then, just out of the corner of her eye –– there he was, trying for a back exit.

"Stupefy!" she yelled, and the red jet zoomed through the crowd. I missed him, hitting the man behind him, and that man collapsed onto Conn, who went to the ground. But they saw her, Mr. Pearson and his men, and soon green jets of endless death were flying in her direction.

It was too late to dodge, but –– she turned on the spot, and Apparated. The green jets missed and slammed into the wall, destroying much of the front structure. The whole building began to teeter wildly, and the floor bucked beneath their feet. Bethany landed, almost miraculously so, next to Conn, and had him by the collar in seconds.

They Apparated out of the building, a few blocks away. They hit the ground hard, Conn especially, and he groaned at the impact.

"Shut up!" Bethany said, pulling the cloak off. Conn looked up at her.

"Gods, you that mad I killed your boyfriend?" he weezed, laughing.

She hit him with full body bind, and the smile froze on his lips. She breathed hard, trying to regain her wind. She had made a mess in there, and Korlack was a witness. But he had never seen her face, just heard her voice –– it shouldn't be a problem.

Or, rather, she hoped it wasn't a problem. She didn't have the strength to track the elf down, and she was sure he would've moved on by now.

"Get up," she said, freeing Conn. He stood, slowly.

"You gonna Apparate us accross the Atlantic, miss? A long way to–"

She hit him, hard, with a her closed fist. She used her wand to drive his knees into his chest, used ropes to tie him tight, and then threw the cloak over him.

"Enjoy the baggage compartment," she said, and using her wand, she lifted him in the air and carried him all the way to the airport.


End file.
